


Not Quite Villainy

by Cloudnine101



Series: Ordinary People, Everday Heroes [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Cas makes a crud villain, Dean is So Done, Humor, Kidnapping, M/M, Protective Sam Winchester, Superheroes, Supervillains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 15:09:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2816648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudnine101/pseuds/Cloudnine101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Truth be told, Castiel doesn't seem like a bad guy. In the movies, they're always ugly and mean and cold - you can pick one out a mile off. But Cas? He's not any of those things. He's...awkward. And he has a nice voice. And nice eyes. Very nice eyes indeed. </p><p>Yeah, OK, maybe Dean has a tiny bit of a crush on him. What does it matter?'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Quite Villainy

Vigilante (noun): watchman, guard. A member of a volunteer committee organized to suppress and punish crime summarily (as when the processes of law are viewed as inadequate).

Broadly, a self-appointed doer of justice.

…

Dean Winchester is in a bit of a tricky situation. Granted, he's been in a lot of trouble in his life: his brother, his god-father, and every teacher he's ever had will tell you that. He's not a stranger to danger. It's not as if he dives headlong into dark alleyways, desperately searching for crime to fight - in fact, quite the opposite. He takes the earliest train home from work. He stays out of the rougher bars. He always locks up when he leaves the house. Bad things, however, seem to find him anyway.

There's a brawl in the local? Blame Dean Winchester. (It's only happened a few times - and nobody's been hurt too badly, so Dean considers it a job well done.) The pool's filled with tomato sauce and bath bombs? Blame Dean Winchester. (The manager had it coming. Which moron doesn't allow people to dive-bomb?) Half the horses have escaped from the local petting zoo? Blame Dean Winchester. (In his defence, that one was an accident - and besides, it was Charlie who dared him in the first place.)

Basically, whenever something worrying happens, there's a high change that it's All Dean Winchester's fault - which is entirely untrue, and also vastly unfair. But, by this time, he's pretty prepared for an all manner of Wrong Things.

What he isn't expecting is for his flat to be blown to smithereens.

…

One second, he's making himself a beer - or, rather, taking a beer out of the fridge - and the next thing he knows, there's flash, and a bang, and a cry, and the world's on fire.

He's lying flat on his back in an instant, the wood scraping his skin, surrounded by glass - and he's pretty certain that's not a good thing, so he tries to move, but he can't - and that's not a good thing, either, that's really not good - so he pulls, really pulls, pushing on the floor with his hands, chest heaving - and he rises up, slowly, slowly, until he's sitting.

There's wetness, on his shirt - and he looks down, and there's blood on his shirt, and his head spins - and he wants to vomit, puke it up, get out get out get out-

And then there's a figure, standing where the window should be, in the blown out-husk of the wall - and Dean shakes his head, waiting for the image to clear, but nothing happens - and there's a guy in his apartment, with the sunlight framing his body, and some kind of device in his hand, wearing a freaking mask - and he's saying:

"Fuck. I got the wrong one."

Dean feels vaguely affronted by this, through the haze of pain. He's about to tell the man to piss off, and possibly out the wall back up, but his head's spinning to much, so he says:

"Chest."

The man blinks, eyes startlingly blue, and looks down.

"Oh. Sorry about that." The man looks faintly surprised.

"It's OK," Dean tries to say, but it ends up as a garbled mass of sounds - and he clutches the red patch, and the world blurs, and he falls back - and everything hurts, and there's a blue light in the sky, swirling over him - and Dean just has time to wonder where his beer went, before he passes out.

…

He wakes up in hospital, with Sam by his bedside and the longest bandage he's ever seen across his torso.

"My flat's dead," Dean says, when he's capable of speech. Sam smiles, despite his wet eyes - but Dean can't figure out why he'd be crying - and replies:

"Yeah."

"Nurse!" someone's yelling - loud, too loud, it hurts - and he thinks it Charlie, but he can't be certain - and then another face swims into view.

"Stupid idjit," comes the voice, "you could've died."

"Morning to you too, Bobby," Dean slurs, and falls asleep again.

…

"The police don't know what to make of it," Sam says, when he returns with Dean's lunch. Picking at the stringy salami in his sandwich, Dean raises an eyebrow. "They're calling it a 'random act of terrorism', or something." Sam leans in, eyes earnest. "Dean...do you remember anything? Anything at all?"

Dean starts to reply - because yes, he does remember something - and then stops. Yeah, Sammy, I saw a guy in a costume, and he blew up my house. He'll be sent to the loony bin for sure, no questions asked. But this is just Sam, right? Who's he gonna tell? "I saw-" Dean begins-

"Hey, boys," Charlie croons, slumping down on the seat beside them, "what's cooking?"

"Nothing," Sam says, moving away, his eyes fixed on Dean. Dean doesn't get to finish, nibbling his sandwich innocently, as a stone is created in his chest.

…

Seeing as Dean's flat has been blown up, Bobby decides it's best for the two boys to move in together. Dean isn't complaining - Sam's got better tech than he does, and a nice TV. Sam, however, is surprisingly more reluctant.

"Bobby, you know why he can't stay with me. My work...keeps me busy."

"Too busy to look after your brother?" Dean snaps. The stone grows heavier. Sam glares at him.

"Don't you start up again. You're fine. They discharged you."

"Hey, I'm an injured citizen! You should be worried for me!" Dean protests, swaying dangerously (and deliberately), "I could be dead right now!"

"Shut up," Sam says, fondly, before turning back to Bobby. "He can't stay here, Bobby. It's not..."

"Not what?" Dean asks. He doesn't get a reply.

"He's stayin'," Bobby grunts. "Maybe he'll keep you outta trouble."

"Bobby-" Sam begins, but is cut off by-

"He's staying." Bobby dumps Dean's bags on Sam's doorstep.

Dean spends the rest of the day feeling half-betrayed, half-smug.

…

The next morning is a Saturday. With no pressing need to do anything, and a reluctance to hang around Sam, he heads out, leaving a short note on the sideboard. Clouds float across the cloud, tinged with grey - there's rain on the way. Wandering down the street, he passes the entrance to a department store, before spotting the sign.

BREAKFAST BAR THIS WAY

There's an arrow beside it, pointing down into the underpass. Dean hesitates - and his stomach growls.

Walking down the steps, he heads into the darkness. Above him, a single lightbulb flickers - the others, strangely, all seem to be busted. This isn't the kind of place he likes to hang around, so he increases his step, shoving his hands into his pockets. He can't see anyone, further on - then again, he can't see very much of anything. Really, they should invest in good lighting systems in this city - it's starting to get ridiculous, the amount of shadows creeping up the walls.

If Dean didn't know it was crazy, he'd say someone was messing with him on purpose.

"Hello," comes the voice. Dean spins around.

"Who's there?" he says, his voice hoarse - and he should've taken some water with him, because this sore throat is going to become a problem - and then he sees him.

It's the man, standing in the light from the single bulb. The man from the apartment.

He's not as tall as Dean remembers, and his eyes don't seem as blue - but it's definitely the same guy, and he's wearing the same mask, and the same stupid costume - and it is a costume, with a cape and everything. How many people go around in capes? It's like asking to get mugged.

"Err...hi." The man doesn't reply. Dean shifts from foot to foot, awkward, before blurting out: "What are you wearing?"

The man looks down. "It's my costume," he says, as if that answers the question. Dean feels a little embarrassed, although he's not entirely certain why. He's not the one in an all-black get up, who apparently enjoys hanging out in dark underpasses.

"I can see that. But...isn't a little, you know...early in the day for parties?"

The man stares at Dean, as though he's the mad one.

"It's my costume," he repeats, voice oddly low, before adding: "Surely you've seen me before?"

Dean thinks, and draws a total memory blank.

"Should I have?" The man continues to stare. Dean shuffles, again. "I'll take that as a yes. Are you...err...some kinda entertainer?"

The man's lip rises a centimetre - and then he starts to laugh, the noise filling the space, drowning out everything else - and holy cow, that's a nice laugh - it's rich and deep and thick, so different from that growl of a voice - although the growl isn't so bad, in itself, it's kinda...nice, if that makes sense. It takes Dean a second to realise he's the one being laughed at.

"Hey! What's so funny?" Slowly, the man winds into silence, his peals echoing in the shadows. Dean tries not to feel too disappointed.

"Nothing, nothing...I just came to check up on you. The other night...I didn't mean to...you know." He shrugs his shoulders, cape pooling around his hips. Dean nods.

"It's alright."

"Really?" The man's eyes light up - and damn, if that isn't the most adorable thing Dean's ever seen.

"Yeah. Yeah, totally. I mean, I'm still a little sore, but..." Dean waves a hand. "I'm holding up."

"You look good," the man growls - and that's the only way to describe his voice, a growl - and Dean would offer him some water, if he had any. "I mean, you don't look...sick."

"Thanks," Dean replies, although he's not sure whether it's a compliment or not. He wouldn't mind it being a compliment. In fact, he'd rather like it.

"You're welcome," the man says. There's a silence.

"So...what do I call you?" The man hesitates, for a moment - and he must really be stoned, if he can't even remember his own name.

"Castiel," comes the gravelly murmur - can a murmur be gravelly? It's cool, anyway.

"Huh." Dean has no other response. "Huh. OK."

"I'll be seeing you again," Castiel says, voice like velvet - and then there's the sound of fluttering, like a bird taking flight - and Dean takes a step forward, saying:

"Wait!"

The lights turn on, bathing the tunnel in a golden glow.

Dean's alone.

…

When he gets back to the house, Bobby's in the living room with Charlie. Stopping beside the door, Dean peers through the cracks. Bobby's got his phone pushed up to his ear, talking frantically into it: "You're sure you haven't seen him? He hasn't been here since-" Charlie gets up from the couch, and takes hold of his hand, as Dean pushes the door open.

They both turn around. And gape.

Dean smiles at them, slightly uncertain.

"Hey, guys. What's going on?"

Bobby lowers his phone, slowly - and then Charlie makes a noise like a strangled goose, and charges towards Dean, wrapping her arms around his throat. Dean gasps, stepping back.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Don't do that, don't do that, don't do that," Charlie mumbles into his neck, "don't do that again! Do you have any idea how worried we were?"

"Worried? Why?"

In the background, Dean's vaguely aware of Bobby, saying: "I'll have to call you back." And then, suddenly, he's there, too, completing the triangle, hugging Dean through Charlie, holding on tight.

"You weren't here, idjit. Where did you go?"

"I just...uh...went out. Didn't you get my note?" It occurs to Dean that he's supposed to be mad at Sam, and the universe by extension; so, he steps back, detaching Charlie, and says: "What's going on?"

Charlie picks at a loose strand on her jumper, eyes as wide as dinner-plates. It should be illegal to have eyes that big. "You mean...you honestly haven't heard?"

Dean shakes his head. "No." I've been too busy chatting to a maniac. "I just bumped into some weirdo. What happened?"

"Weirdo?" Bobby echoes. Dean nods.

"Yeah. It doesn't matter." Fearing he's said too much, he clamps his lips together; wordlessly, Charlie points to the screen. Dean follows her finger with his line of vision - and stops, stock-still. The headline blares, soundless, from the black box.

BANK HEIST - PERPETRATOR ESCAPES

Below it, in smaller lettering is:

LUCIFER FAILS TO APPEAR

Below it is a photo; it looks like it's from a security camera, or something. The quality isn't that good - pixellated and grainy - but it's good enough so that Dean can make out the image. A man, throwing what seems to be a guard (or what's left of one) across the room, cape billowing behind him. And there, on the screen, is none other than Castiel - wearing his dark costume and mask, and glowing. With blue light. And hitting someone. Very hard.

"Well, shit," Dean says, "I can see why you were worried. Who's making breakfast?"

…

Dean knows what the right thing to do is. He should confess - although, to be honest, he's not entirely sure what he's confessing to. Getting his house blown up by a super-villain? Bumping into said villain in the underpass? Being the 'wrong one'? And what does that even mean, anyhow? Truth be told, Castiel doesn't seem like a bad guy. In the movies, they're always ugly and mean and cold - you can pick one out a mile off. But Cas? He's not any of those things. He's...awkward. And he has a nice voice. And nice eyes. Very nice eyes indeed.

Yeah, OK, maybe Dean has a tiny bit of a crush on him. What does it matter? It's not as if he can help the police, anyway. Plus, the idea of a costume-clad Castiel in the city isn't exactly an unappealing one. The thought of him behind bars is. However, it's fairly obvious that he's more than a little unhinged. Robbing banks? Why would you do that? Then again, he didn't seem like a madman - fairly well together, in fact. So, he must have a good reason for needing the money, right?

Who's Dean to get in the way of that?

…

Fifteen minutes later, Sam races through the door. Bobby wheels himself to met him - after a few hushed words, they part. Sam's still sweaty, but smiling slightly. Charlie waves at him, as he approaches.

"Sorry I'm late - just had some stuff to catch up on. What happened?"

"I just went out for a walk, and everyone flipped," Dean replies. "We're having pancakes. Wanna join us?" Sam narrows his eyes.

"Uh-huh." Taking a seat, he pulls off his boots. Weirdly, he isn't wearing any socks. On the television, another report blares view:

VIGILANTE LUCIFER VOWS TO BRING VILLAIN TO JUSTICE

On screen, an exceptionally tall man is seen to be flying into the scene. Below, suitably awed crowds 'ooh' and 'ah', as he lands atop the bank, a good half hour too late to help.

"Show off," Dean mutters into his plate, "who does he think he is?"

…

Sam doesn't let Dean out of his sight for the rest of the day, until Dean, under the pretence of taking a shower, locks himself in the bathroom. Slumping against the door, he could almost cry with relief. Being able to chat to your little bro? Cool beans. Being practically manacled to him? Not so cool. And then it occurs to Dean that he's actually pretty hot, and pretty sticky, and generally pretty gross - so he strips off, and washes.

Half an hour later and sparkling clean, he emerges, water running in rivulets down his skin. Sam's boots are still visible under the door. "Jerk," Dean mutters, as he slips back into his trousers, shivering - because damn, that breeze is cold - and hang on.

The window was closed when he got in.

Slowly, Dean walks towards it. "Sam?" But why would it be Sam? What reason could his brother have to break down the door, wrench open the window, and hop back? It doesn't make any sense...unless...it wasn't Sam. Casting around for a weapon, Dean's eyes fall on the toilet scrubber. Wielding it like a sword, he advances forward, the scent of cheap toilet-cleaner filling his nostrils. Dean pulls a face, and looks outside.

And then there's a dark shape, and a beat of wings - and warmth, pulling around him - and Dean can feel his body being pulled forward, and he clings onto the ledge with one hand, clinging to his weapon -but he's tipping - and there's darkness, and he can't see - and he cries out, but it's muffled by something - and he strikes at the shape, and there's a noise, and a sharp tug - and then he falls forwards, tipping out of the bathroom - and all he can think is, holy shit, I'm gonna die.

The world goes black.

…

When Dean wakes up, there's the taste of blood in his mouth. A little trickle of it runs down his lip - he tries to raise a hand to wipe at it, and only succeeds in chafing his wrists. The reason for this is that he is, in fact, tied to a chair. "Screw me," Dean says, panic mounting, and pulls harder. There's no movement from his bonds - they wouldn't really be bonds if there was.

"You hit me," comes the voice, "with a toilet brush." And Dean's head jerks up - because he knows that rasp.

"Castiel?"

The super-villain gazes at him from beneath the mask, holding the aforementioned object in both hands. Dean looks at it. He looks at Castiel. He looks at it. Reality sinks in.

"Dude...you kidnapped me."

"Yes, I did," Castiel replies, perfectly calmly, "and then you hit me."

"I've been kidnapped. I've actually been kidnapped. By a super-villain. And I'm in a freaking _warehouse_." Dean's laugh borders on hysteria. Castiel tilts his head to one side.

"You're taking this well. Usually, there's a lot more screaming. And a lot less hitting."

"Usually?" Castiel nods.

"I am a super-villain, Dean. What did you think I did in my spare time?"

Dean opens his mouth to retort - but actually, Castiel's got a pretty good point.

"I dunno. Smiting, I guess."

"Smiting?"

Dean nods. "Yep. You look...like a smiter."

"A smiter? Is that even a word?"

Dean shrugs. "Don't know, don't care. Can you untie me, now? What am I even doing here, Cas?"

"You...you're...well, bait, I suppose." Castiel looks faintly sheepish. "I'm waiting for your brother."

"My brother? What do you want with Sam?"

"You mean...you honestly don't know? You haven't...worked it out?" Castiel stares at him fixedly. Dean resists the urge to squirm.

"Err...nope?"

"Extraordinary," Castiel breathes - and before Dean can go into shock (because damn, that's steamy), there's a cry.

…

"You! Unhand that citizen!" And there, springing down from a rafter, is none other than Lucifer himself - cape streaming out behind him, looking for all he world as if he's about to save the day.

"Oh, come on," Dean says, "you're here, too? Is this a superhero convention, or something?"

"He's a hero," Castiel points out helpfully, "I'm a villain. There's a difference."

"Thanks for pointing that out, Cas," Dean says, raising his eyes to the ceiling, "I'm sure nobody knew that."

"You're welcome," the villain replies, tone bordering on seriousness, "I'm glad to be of help."

"Cas? You...you two know each other?" Lucifer adjusts his cowl, eyes darting between them.

"Yes," Castiel says - a touch too proudly, in Dean's opinion, "we're friends."

"He kidnapped me," Dean hurriedly corrects, reluctant to be tagged into the villain party, "and I hit him."

"It was a very good hit."

"Thanks, Cas."

"Don't mention it."

Lucifer wears a shell-shocked expression. "Right."

In the seat, Dean twitches. "Hey, Lucifer...aren't you supposed to be saving me, or something?"

Breaking out of his daze, the supposed superhero nods. "Right," he says again, and shoots a plasma bolt at Castiel's chest.

In the chair, Dean twists to the side, crying out - the blast misses him by inches, and creates a smoking patch on the wall. By this time, however, Castiel's already out of the way, and up on the rafters - God knows how he got so high - and then his eyes glow blue - brilliant, cerulean, flourescent blue - and a pair of wings arch from his back.

A pair. Of wings. Big, black, feathery wings, stretching out, tinged with sapphire light, like manic Christmas decorations.

Dean really needs to stop drinking. And possibly take up yoga. It's meant to be good for this kind of thing.

And then Castiel jumps off the rafter. And falls.

There's a hush. Dean can hear his heartbeat.

And then the wings flap, and Cas is hovering in the air, and he's saying: "You'll never defeat me, Lucifer! You're the one thing between me and this city, and I won't let it go!"

"You're a jerk!" Lucifer yells back - and then he starts to float, so that they're facing each other, hovering in mid-air. From the ground, Dean gapes. Boy, if Sammy could see this-

"I know who you are!" Castiel shouts - and Lucifer pales, swaying slightly. Castiel smiles - it spreads across his face, sitting there uncomfortably. "I tracked your movements. It didn't take long to put two and two together."

"So you brought Dean into this? Why didn't you just come after me?"

"Hey, how do you know my name?" Dean hollers, craning his neck upwards. "What's going on up there? I still need rescuing, ass-butt!"

"He was interesting," Castiel says, smiling down at Dean, "I like him. He's cute."

 _"Cute_?" Lucifer and Dean say, precisely in sync. Castiel nods, fondly. Dean's never been more horrified.

"I think I might keep him. He's nice looking, and he doesn't panic when you take him places."

And the words are spinning round in Dean's head - and what the Hell what the Hell what the Hell - and Castiel likes him, he actually likes him - but keeping him? What-

"If you think he's going anywhere with you, you've got another thing coming," Lucifer growls - yes, growls - and launches himself at him. In the air, they grapple, fists flying, legs kicking - and then Castiel gets the upper hand, his fingers locking around Lucifer's throat, squeezing, squeezing - and Castiel's actually going to kill someone, he's going to be a murderer, and then Dean won't be able to-

"Alright, alright! Quit it, the pair of you!" Castiel's head snaps to the side; Lucifer's eyes roll across, so that they're both looking at Dean. Dean swallows - but seriously, he's beyond tired of this shit. "I'm not going with either of you, so that's out of the question. You two are gonna stop fighting, and then you're gonna untie me, and fly away, so that I can get back to my little brother - who, by the way, is probably worried sick about me, right now. Seriously, he's gonna be freaking out."

Dean glares up at them. "Cas, stop strangling Lucifer. He's going blue." Castiel glances down at the (decidedly blue) superhero, and loosens his grip. Dean breathes a sigh of relief, as Lucifer moves away, gasping. "Thank you, ladies. Now, which one of you is gonna help a guy out?"

…

Outside the warehouse, there's a hush. The bangs ceased five minutes again, as did the lights - now, there's simply silence, and darkness. Even the roar of the helicopters overhead seems quieter. Reporters stand be, cameras clutched in their clammy hands. Police officers point their guns. The world waits, with bated breath.

Ten seconds later, the doors open, to reveal-

Lucifer, his arm around a man's shoulders, dragging him into the sunlight.

A cheer ripples through the surrounding crowd, growing larger and larger, borne on the breeze. The man blinks around, as Lucifer hands him over to a police officer. "Hey," he says, addressing the hero as a blanket's draped over his shoulders, "I know you-"

But Lucifer's already gone - flying up into the sky, and away.

Nobody notices the man, dressed all in black, sneaking out the back entrance.

When the police enter the ramshackle building, only a chair remains.

…

After everything happens, life returns to normal. Dean wake up, goes to work, has a coffee, comes home, goes to bed. It's all the same stuff that usually happens - all the stuff that used to fill his plate, once upon a time. It used to be enough, to have his job and Sammy and Charlie and Bobby - but now, the world seems...different. Dean knows he should be grateful - Castiel was a nutball, and Lucifer saved him, and all was good with the universe. (And if Lucifer seems more than a little similar to a certain someone he knows, that's not of consequence.)

Except, in the moment, it didn't really feel like that. In actual fact, Dean's pretty sure he was the one who saved the day. (Not that he'd ever mention this to anyone. Who would believe him?) But now, after the one adventure of his lifetime is over, everything else feels...bland. Boring. Washed-out. Dull. But Dean's still very, very happy with his existence - and he definitely doesn't daydream about a blue-eyed...individual, who isn't a super-villain, with a gravelly voice and a charming smile.

In his life, Dean's made some questionable decisions (the most infamous of these being the Petting Zoo Incident, which he still doesn't speak of and Charlie references constantly). One thing he isn't going to do, however, is go after Castiel. He has no wish for his brain to be fried - which is what would undoubtedly happen, if he turned up in the Castiel-Cave, or whatever.

How would he go about it, anyway? It's not as if there's a 'Villains R Us' around the corner. Besides, if Castiel wanted to hear from him, he would've called by now. Or, you know, pulled him headfirst out of a window. Basically, Castiel isn't interested, and Dean's just fine with that. Totally. And it's not as if he misses him a tiny bit. Not at all.

…

At work, Dean rests his head on the keyboard, eyes fluttering shut. On screen, digits continue to roll across - and seriously, how much paperwork can one guy have? When he agreed to work for Bobby, he didn't know it would mean Actual Work. He thought he'd just be able to sit back, while his god-father actually ran things. But no - by some unfortunate twist of fate, secretaries actually have to deal with paperwork. And, apparently, Crowley.

"Ah, Winchester. Slacking, are we?" The grin Crowley gives him is almost demonic. Dean straightens up.

"No, boss, just decided to slump over this computer. It's very theraputic. You might want to try it, sometime."

From behind Crowley, there's a snort. A snort Dean recognises.

Dean sits bolt-upright. "Who-"

"Dean, this is Mr Singer's new employee, Jimmy Novak. You're going to be showing him the ropes, in the secretarial department. Think you can do that?"

"Yes, sir," Dean says, on autopilot. Jimmy Novak smiles at him.

"Try not to break anything, Winchester," Crowley says, and swoops out of the office, flashing his Head-of-Department badge at every passing employee.

Dean doesn't see, or care.

From above him, the man smiles.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel says, eyes gleaming, "did you miss me?"

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hoped you like it, and please leave a review!


End file.
